


Planters of Truth and Justice

by Diary



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Awkwardness, Bechdel Test Fail, Gen, Gen Fic, Late Night Conversations, POV Male Character, POV Samwell Tarly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9089809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: AU. Photographer Sam moves to America and soon meets a masked heroine. Complete.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Game of Thrones.

Sam Tarly knew he should have listened to everyone who told him not to move to America.

Shaking, he pleads, “You don’t understand, I’m a photographer, all my important work is on this camera, you have my wallet and flat keys and watch-”

The mugger steps closer.

Suddenly-

Sam is wondering if this is a seizure, he’s dead, or if he’s currently dying.

Out of nowhere, a flying woman appears, places her palm over the nozzle of the gun, and soon, black ash is falling between her gloved fingers. Still in mid-air, she turns the mugger upside down and dangles him by his ankle. She shakes him, and wallets, keys, and jewellery starts to fall onto the ground.

“Hello,” she greets in an American accent. “The internet calls me Green Girl. Find your wallet, keys, and watch, and if you take anything that doesn’t belong to you, I’ll be tracking you down next.”

“T-this- this,” he stutters.

He can’t get a clear indication on how tall she is or what her body type is. A green facemask covers everything but her eyes and mouth, and from what he can see past the man she’s holding, she appears to be wearing brown gloves, a black, roll-neck jumper with green flower-prints over a pair of brown leggings and knee-high, black boots.

“It’s alright,” she gently says. “Just find your stuff.”

“Wh- what about him?”

The mugger looks furious but not scared and, Sam realises, hasn’t said anything this whole time.

She shrugs. “Police and I don’t get along. I’ll take all the stuff and try to return them to their rightful owners. Until he gets a new gun, he isn’t going to be causing too much trouble.”

Sam does the only thing he can think to do: He kneels down, finds his stuff, and hurries away.

…

Tyrion Lannister was born and raised in England, but he’s been in the States for long enough he’s gained something of an American accent. “Ah, Tarly, did you forget something?”

Sinking down into a chair, Sam looks around the bullpen. “You’re- I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you what happened. But I swear, I haven’t drank anything, and I’m not on drugs.”

Wheeling his chair over, Tyrion peers at him. “Hmm. Let me guess: The Miss Green appeared to you?”

Startled, Sam looks over.

Giving him a sympathetic, vaguely amused smile, Tyrion nods. “I’ve learned not to tell people. They either learn on their own, or they remain ignorant. Tell me what happened.”

After Sam does, Tyrion says, "Come over here.”

“A few years ago, a woman with non-human abilities started appearing around the city. From what I’ve been able to establish, we’re the only city she bothers with. I thought the moniker ‘Solar Woman’ or, perhaps, something with the word 'Eco' in it would be good, but the small part of the internet that believes in her has collectively decided on ‘Green Girl’. She sticks to greens, browns, and blacks, you see, and she always has flower-prints on her outfits.”

She’s slim and neither short nor tall, Sam sees. The mask, boots, and gloves are constant, but there are pictures of her in various jumpers, leggings, and trousers.

“During the warmer seasons, she often wears unitards or leotards with tights,” Tyrion adds. “Here are some more pictures. The gloves she wears have been identified as pleather, suggesting she might care about animal rights or the environment past favouring a flowery aesthetic. As you can see, her skin is white. That doesn’t necessarily mean she is, however. The mask is vaguely almond-shaped around the eyes, and said eyes are brown. None of this proof she’s of Asian descent, of course, but it is a possibility.”

“She said the police- she and the police don’t get along. They don’t- is there a reason-” He takes a breath. “It seems they aren’t trying to actively find her. Is that right, or are they just doing it quietly?”

Laughing, Tyrion clasps his shoulder. “We might make a reporter out of you, yet, Tarly. If they are, they’re doing so _very_ quietly. It seems they’ve decided, the less people who know about and believe in her existence, the better. I have a source on the local force, and according to them, some of their colleagues are afraid of catching her. As long as she doesn’t become an undeniable danger, it’s best to neither encourage nor condemn her.”

“What all can she do? I mean, power-wise?”

“There’s much debate about that. It’s a given that she can fly and is super-strong. Everything else is speculation. Many people believe she must have advanced senses of some sort, likely hearing and/or sight, but it’s just as likely she’s simply good at concealing herself and only appearing when she notices someone has a need.”

“Good evening,” a soft, Northern accented voice says.

“Ah, hello, Gilly. Tarly, this is our night janitor, Gilly Brown. Like us, she’s here on a work visa. Gilly, this is Sam Tarly, our newest photographer.”

Looking over, Sam is struck by the sight of a pretty woman smiling shyly at them. She’s a little shorter than him, willowy, and has big, dark brown eyes. Her brown hair is in a plaited bun, and she’s wearing a long-sleeved, black sundress with green tights underneath and black, ballet flats.

“Hello,” he manages.

“Her arrival is our cue to leave. She insists on it, in fact,” Tyrion says. “Come on. We can share a cab.”

Still smiling softly, she says, “It’s nice to meet you."

“Y-You too,” Sam replies.

…

In the cab, Tyrion tells him, “Miss Brown doesn’t believe in Miss Green. Amusing, I suppose.”

“What sort of people does the Green Girl help?”

“It appears she doesn’t go into burning buildings or save people from tornadoes,” Tyrion answers. “She did once save a person from drowning, however. Mostly, she makes her appearance in the early and late evenings. If someone is being mugged or otherwise threatened, there’s a chance she’ll show up. A high concentration of those she’s helped have been women and teenagers.”

“Have you ever met her?”

“Not to my knowledge. I’ve never met her in her Green Girl costume. The source I have on the police force has, though. They didn’t particularly care for her.”

“Well, after what she did, I quite like her,” Sam announces.

…

A few days after the incident, Sam is working late when he hears, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Looking up from his laptop, Sam rubs his eyes to see Gilly staring at him. “Oh, hello, Miss Brown. Yes, I’m working on-”

“You’re not supposed to be here after closing. I keep this building so clean because people aren’t around to bother me and get in the way.”

“Well, I’ll try my best not to do either, but I really do need to finish this-”

“Finish it up at home,” she insists.

Feeling ill-at-ease, he wonders what he should do. When he left England, he swore he’d stop being so timid and letting others walk all over him, but most of the people who bullied him were strong men, not relatively small women.

“See, the thing is, my flat doesn’t have any heat,” he explains.

She sighs. “You still can’t stay here all night. I’m going to clean the ladies’ bogs. In an hour, you need to find somewhere else to be.”

“Okay,” he agrees.

She wanders off.

…

Sam finishes his work, leaves, and promptly wishes he either made enough to afford taking a taxi or lived near a bus stop.

This time it’s not a mugger. No, this time, a bit of uneven pavement causes him to misstep and land right on his face. Thankfully, though, he can see his camera is still safely in its case.

“Are you okay?”

Carefully managing to get into a sitting position, he looks up to see Green Girl floating above him.

“Er, yes, thank you,” he answers. “I think-”

Trying to stand up causes shooting pain in his ankle.

“Here,” she says. “I’ll help you.”

To his shock, he finds her picking him up, but no, this can’t be right, he knows. Super-strength on her part or not, he’s always been large and heavy. His mother stopped being able to carry him when he was only four or five, and while his size has never done anything to protect him against blows and kicks, no one has ever been able to drag him anywhere.

“I’ll take you to a free clinic near here," she says. "It might be busy, but it’ll be warm and safe, and they’ll help you get home after.”

“Um, thank you. I’m Samwell Tarly. Sam. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself properly the first time we met.”

“That’s alright. What do you do, Sam?”

He makes the mistake of looking down.

Unbelievable or not, he’s being carried through the air by another person.

Quickly looking over at her and trying to banish the sudden dizziness from his mind, he answers, “I’m a photojournalist. Well, I mean, I hope to be one someday. Right now, I just take pictures for Lincoln’s Weekly Magazine. The office building is near where I fell.”

“What’s the difference between a photojournalist and someone who just takes pictures for a magazine?”

He explains, and when he’s done, he realises she’s stopped and is floating near St Bryan’s Free Clinic.

“That’s interesting,” she says with apparent sincerity. “Ready to go in?”

He nods.

Inside, only a few people glance at them, and those people quickly go back to whatever they were doing.

She gets him settled in a chair. “I’ll go give them your details.”    

When she gets back, he takes in her green roll-neck jumper with brown flowers and brown leggings. “Do you mind me asking, why the gloves,” he blurts out.

Giving a slight shrug, she sits down next to him. “Fingerprints.”

“Oh, right,” he says. He knows, in most American states, people have to have their fingerprints scanned in order to get a driving licence. Convicted criminals all have their fingerprints permanently on file. Other than this, she has an American accent, but if she is an immigrant, too, and like Tyrion, had developed an American accent, provided her other identity is here legally, her fingerprints would be on file.

“That’s clever,” he breathes out. “Most people, if they found themselves a superhero, they wouldn’t even stop to think of something like that.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not a superhero. I occasionally help people, and I can do things most can’t. There are people who can’t do what I do, and they willingly risk their lives for others. I’d never do that.”

“Why do you help people?”

“There’s so much bad in the world, and that makes me angry. I try to be careful about the risks I take, but- I’ve never liked seeing good people being treated badly and the people treating them like that getting away with it.”

“That strikes me as fairly heroic,” he says. “As someone not bad who’s been treated badly by others quite a bit in my life, I’ve always appreciated it when others stepped in. And unlike you, I’ve never stepped in to help others.”

“That makes you smarter than me,” she replies. Reaching down, she plays with her jumper. “The reason I wear flowers is that, without them, humans wouldn’t be. You can wipe out whole species of flowers, but there will still be other types. Some aren’t considered very useful. But all of them have some use. It might not be much, but when I stop bad people or do something easy to help someone, it’s a type of justice I’m spreading.”

Unsure how to convey how much he does understand her words and how deeply they resonate, he gives her a tentative smile.

She nods. “I need to go, now. Goodbye, Sam Tarly.” She stands.

“Goodbye, Miss Green. Thank you.”

…

Gilly has no sympathy for the fact his ankle is in a cast. “I let you stay late last night. Now, go home before I decide to talk to your boss tomorrow. She likes how clean I keep the building.”

He supposes it’s not too surprising, after barely two days, she’s decided she doesn’t like him, but he’d hoped maybe they could be friends. Aside from Tyrion, he doesn’t know anyone English, and he’s yet to make any American friends.

Sighing, he gathers his stuff, goes outside, and almost slips again when he sees Green Girl floating near the building.

“I was wondering if you needed some help in getting home,” she says.

“Oh, um- well, not need, but if you aren’t too busy, I’d appreciate-”

She lands beside him. “Here, put your weight on me.”

Cautiously, he does, and they start walking.

Tonight, she has on a white, floral-patterned roll-neck jumper, black tights, and to his surprise, a green skirt. He doesn’t think, in any of the pictures he saw, she had on a skirt in any of them.

“Why do you want to be a photojournalist?”

“That’s sort of a long answer.”

“I have more time than you do,” she replies.

“I love to read. If I could, I’d spend all day doing that. But um, when I was twelve, my mum gave him a Polaroid camera. My father was military, and we moved around a lot. He hated how much time I spent inside, so, I think that’s why she gave it to me, but whatever the reason, I’m glad she did. I’m not much of a writer, you see, but outside, I’d see things, mostly animals and buildings, that I could imagine stories for and about. So, I took pictures, and surprisingly, the stories I came up with, they usually came through in the pictures.”

He hesitates.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she says.

“I thinking reading is very important, but I don’t think there’s a clear-cut right way or wrong way to do it. Things like audiobooks, e-readers, I was happy when they started to gain legitimacy. More than reading, I think people having knowledge is very, very important. So, if I can impart knowledge through pictures, especially to people who don’t read much and don’t watch the news, I feel like I’m doing something important.”

“You are,” she quietly tells him. “I know someone who’s never- she’s severely dyslexic. She’s managed to get through life so far, but she has to mostly rely on talking reports when it comes to the news. If she could look at a picture and figure out what’s going on without anyone telling her- it’d make her feel much better about herself.”

“Has she-”

“There might be help out there, but she ain’t going to accept it."

“I’m sorry,” he offers.

He feels her shrug. “She’s nothing special.”

They make the rest of the way to his flat in silence.

When they get to the building, she leans him against the wall. “Are you going to be okay? I’ve heard that this is one of those buildings with shoddy heat.”

“Yes, I’ll be fine, thank you. I have a warm set of flannel pyjamas and an electric blanket.”

Floating up, she looks at the camera case. “If you wanted, you could take a picture of me.”

He’s greatly tempted, but- “If I did, right now, it wouldn’t tell any real story about you. A masked woman can fly. That doesn’t really do much to define you, does it?”

With the mask on her, he can’t truly tell, but he has the feeling her expression is dubious. “Well, if you ever come across me when a picture would, I hope you have your camera, Sam Tarly.”

“I do, too.”

“Go on inside,” she says. “I’ll wait until you’re in. I can’t help you in the mornings, but until you’re ankle heals, I’ll try to come by at night.”

“Thank you.”

He goes inside, and by the time he makes it up to his flat and looks out the window, he sees no trace of her.     

Sam is so glad he didn’t listen to all those people who told him not to come to America.


End file.
